


Castiel: Perdition

by WatchingOne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel Back Story, Close to Canon, Content Warning: Explicit depictions of sin in Hell, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Prequel, Supernatural Season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-19 02:51:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2371769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatchingOne/pseuds/WatchingOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the beginning of one of the biggest story arcs in the Supernatural universe.<br/>Who is Castiel? And why was it him that had to raise Dean Winchester from Perdition? This is the story of who the Angel Castiel really is, his mission, and his journey through Hell itself, to rescue Dean, and to find the humanity within himself.<br/>Here we peek behind the curtain a bit, and watch the machinations of Heaven and Hell moving and shaping the lives of the Winchesters (and vice-versa) and fill in some of the little hidden details that make a story so rich, and the writers of the actual show never had time to show us.<br/>I sincerely hope that you enjoy it, and hang on tight through the events that brings Castiel to us, not just a simple Angel of the Lord, but a complex and deeply feeling being that bridges the jealous gap that was unfortunately created between Angels and Humans ever since God first threw them into the mix together...<br/>Author's note; Comments welcome, read and replied to!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Question

# Chapter 1: The First Question

 

Castiel moved silently on dark wings through the night, his Angel's blade already stained a horrible dark red, turning black under the midnight sky. His duty was clear, but his thoughts were not.  _Too many_ , he thought,  _even one is too much_ .

Such thoughts were, at the best, the worst form of blasphemy. This was his Father's Will, and his Father's Command. These people, this Pharaoh, had defied Him and held His people in bondage, even after the clear warnings of nine previous plagues. God had even sent him a Prophet to warn him, and he still would not listen. The Israelites still remained in bondage, forbidden to worship Him. It was...the only way.

Castiel shook his head to clear his thoughts and landed without a sound in the street. The air was dry, clear and still, when, by all rights, it should be as thick and heavy as a charnel house, in witness to the slaughter. He saw dark shapes moving through the alleys and streets, moving from door to door, sometimes stopping, sometimes ducking soundlessly inside. His brothers and sisters, also away on their bloody task. Hundreds of them. Thousands of targets.  _Too many..._

Castiel caught himself. Who was he to begin to question His word? His purpose and mission were laid out clearly. There was no question. To question the Father....he shook his head again, noticing to his surprise that he had stopped moving, his blade shaking slightly in his hand, the blood slowly falling onto the sand covered street.  _Drip. Drip. Drip._ Too many.

He was interrupted in his thoughts as a figure strode confidently towards him, his Angel blade also covered in the blood of the first born. But as the face resolved in the moonlight... was that... a smile on his face?

“Castiel”.

“Uriel”.

“Isn't this glorious?” Uriel exulted, spreading out his hands wide, his smile widening, his eyes dancing. “Finally, finally Father sees that these... apes.... have defied him. That they are nothing. Imperfect and flawed. His punishment for their insolence will echo throughout the millennia.”

“Do you really think Father...?” Castiel began, then quickly caught himself. “Of course you're correct, brother,” Castiel replied. “We should finish quickly. The Lord's wrath is swift after all.”

“And just, Castiel,” Uriel said, frowning, his expression turning serious as he watched him. “And just.” He turned slowly towards the door to his side, regarding the precise Angel sigil drawn there in fresh lamb's blood. “A shame, however”, he said, slowly, languorously tracing his finger over the symbol. “Some of them will be spared this lesson.”

“Brother,” said Castiel slowly, not wanting to give voice to the alarm in his head. Uriel was always hard to figure out. He was an Archangel, once. During the Fall, he had  _accidentally_ lead Lucifer to the Earth and Father had seen fit to... lessen  his duties. There were still those in Heaven who wondered if the punishment should have been harsher, sharing The Morning Star's fate. “Father's word was very clear. And these are his Chosen people. They will worship Him once they are free.”

Uriel turned his head slowly towards Castiel, his eyes calmer now. Almost regretful. “No, Castiel, they will most certainly not. They will turn from Him as they will _all_ turn from Him. They will never learn this lesson. It will make it...easier for them is all.”

_Drip. Drip. Drip._ Castiel realized with horror that he was watching the blood fall from Uriel's blade. His head had a strange, swimming feeling to it, like he was... what was the word the humans used? Sick. Impossible. He was an Angel of the Lord. Such things were not possible. He found himself shaking his head again, his hand gripping his blade tightly, as if it would slip from his hands like mercury.

“We'd better continue, Uriel,” he finally said. “I'll take the next street over, if this is the one that you want.”

Uriel regarded him for a few moments, his head held back. Watching him. Then he shook his head as well and replied, “No, Castiel, better that you take one more house, this one here,” he indicated the neighboring door, clear of lamb's blood. “Then move off into the fields. There are livestock that also must be cleansed. That was His word.”

Castiel hesitated before answering. Could he see? He felt that the questions inside him were lighting his face up like a beacon. But of course he couldn't see. If Uriel suspected even for a second...

“As you wish, brother. I will see you back at the Gates.”

Uriel nodded quickly and turned away, striding with purpose towards the center of the city. Castiel watched him go and stood silently in the middle of the street.  _Drip. Drip. Drip._

After what seemed like hours, his reverie broke, his soldier's will taking over, and he moved stiffly to the unmarked door, his legs moving automatically, independent of his own will.  _One more, I only have to do this one more time._ He walked silently into the house, the living area covered in fine carpets, painted clay pots stacked neatly against the wall. The crib lay close the parents’ simple bed. They would never wake, for Castiel made no sound, and God's Will would not brook any interruption or discovery.

He looked down into the crib. The baby did n ot stir. It had a fuzz of black hair on its head. The hair looked soft. It fluttered lightly with the intake of each breath. He watched in fascination at the small chest rise and fall. Why hadn't he seen this on the other son s he had visited this night? Just this last one.  _This last one._ He raised his blade. He noticed with surprise that his own blood now mixed with the blood of the first-borns on his blade, his hand gripping it so tight as to cut even his strong skin. He had no choice... _or do I?_ Father has a plan. Faith in that plan is everything. What is an Angel without that Faith?  _What am I?_ His hand shook violently. He brought the blade down swiftly. Silently. The wrath of the Lord. He straightened and pulled in a breath of shock as he realized... tears were streaming down his face.


	2. The Next Mission

# Chapter 2: The Next Mission

 

Castiel returned to the Gates. It was an impressive structure, and served as a rallying point for the Hosts of Heaven. A vast white bricked corridor with marbled pillars aligned on each side stretched off to meet a massive Golden Gate, decorated with depictions of Cherubs and intertwining golden vines. The pillars on the sides of the street reached up into a bright blue sky, seemingly into eternity. Normally, Castiel would indulge himself a moment of wonder at the spectacle of His work, but he just wanted... _wanted..._ he really had no idea. Just... alone. _I just want to be alone,_ thought Castiel.

He began to stride towards the open gates, seeing the masses of Angels returning from Egypt talking with one another, or cleaning the blades in basins of holy water supported by white marble plinths on either side of the Gates. The mood was somber. Grim work. At this, Castiel took some comfort. _At least I'm not the only one... feeling this._

His thoughts were quickly sobered when he saw a group of Angels happily chattering away, slapping each other on the back and genuinely celebrating the night's work. Uriel was among them. And the great Archangel Michael. Raphael. Zachariah, wearing his seven heads. He was always so proud of his original form. The one that Father had given him before asking them to take on the appearance of his favored creation, the humans. _They're actually celebrating_ , thought Castiel. _As if this was some great victory._

He hurried past this group, hoping not to catch Uriel's notice. He was still worried that somehow he knew... _he knew_ about the questions, the hesitation. The defiance of Father's Will.

Luckily, Uriel was too excited and caught up in his revelry to notice Castiel moving past, but as he neared the entrance to Heaven, he saw that a group of Angels was approaching him quickly, and at their fore... was that _Gabriel?_ Why would he be interested in him? He was just the Angel of Thursday... unless...

“Castiel, Angel of Thursday, our Father, the Almighty, His Holy Presence would like to speak with you - immediately,” said Gabriel, his head cocked to the side, regarding him like an oddity that he could not define. “Today, I've apparently resumed the role as His Herald... for the first time in...” Gabriel stopped, looking up into the air sardonically, his lips moving, apparently counting immeasurable numbers, “well, since virtually forever.” Gabriel's odd behavior and strange sense of humor since the Fall of the Morning Star was widely known. Some in Heaven believed that he was not entirely supportive of the punishment. More believed, however, that he just wasn't happy about now having something as powerful as their brother Lucifer as an enemy.

Any hope Castiel had of not attracting attention to himself was absolutely ruined now. He looked around at the groups of Angels immediately surrounding the Gate, Uriel's group included, and felt suddenly very small. They looked on in utter shock. A summons to the Father... it had been a millennium. Michael's face slowly began to change from shock to fury, Castiel almost able to hear his thoughts: _Who in all of Creation are you, Brother, to warrant a word with our great Father? When He has not so much as said a single word to me, ME!, in centuries..._ His anger was so great that he lost control over his visage, his handsome young face changing suddenly to the faces of a thousand heroic warriors, all seen in a single blink. No Angel had been summoned before Father since... the Fall. _They know... Father save me, they know..._

Gabriel waved off the other Angels in his group wordlessly, his hand brushing through the air impatiently and dispersing them as if swatting away some insects. He then escorted Castiel personally thorough the entrance and towards the glowing dome in the middle distance.

“Don't worry too much about them, they're just jealous,” said Gabriel, breaking the heavy silence after a little while.

Castiel was a bit stunned at first. He had never actually directly spoken with an Archangel before. Let alone one as powerful as Gabriel. It suddenly occurred to him, though, that not responding would be considered extremely rude.

Gabriel had stopped and was looking at him curiously again, the side of his mouth turned up in a half smile. “Brother, you look as if the Pit itself has already swallowed you up. Don't worry, if Father wanted you for something... unbecoming that you have done, I would know it. I'm His Messenger, I know His Will... whether I want to or not...” he added in a half breath.

Castiel, still shocked, felt a bit of tension let go. “Then...”

“Why?” Gabriel finished. “Because He knows all. Out of everyone in Egypt tonight, you were the only one - the _only_ one,” He spit out this last with razor sharp sarcasm. “ to stop and think about the innocence of the humans there.”

Castiel felt his stomach drop. “He…you... know... then, I...”

Gabriel grabbed Castiel's shoulders and shook him a bit, like an affectionate older brother. “No, no Castiel. No wrath. You've actually made Him... kind of... happy,” Gabriel hesitantly spoke the last word - as if it made no sense at all.

They continued walking along the broad, white stoned path. Beautifully tended gardens could be seen as far as one cared to look. Idyllic statues and soft diffused light gave everything an inner glow. Castiel always believed, that no matter how troubled one's thoughts were, the path to the palace would calm your mind. It was a type of magic, impossible to resist. After the Fall, and the preceding war before it, in which several of his brothers and sisters were slain, Castiel had come here often, standing in the middle of a green field and watching the birds, he had always had such a love of birds, and let the gentle wind calm his nerves. He wasn't the only one who had.

“He hates us, you know.”

Gabriel's sudden statement woke Castiel from his short reflection. “What... who?” Castiel answered awkwardly.

“Us,” Gabriel repeated, waving his hands around violently. “All of us. Why else would he create humans in the first place? Why else set such a 'test' for us? To find the one who cared... as if He actually expected _any_ of us to care in the first place...”

“I'm, um, I'm afraid I don't understand you...” stammered Castiel.

“Angels, Castiel!” shouted Gabriel, standing directly in front of him now. “His own creation! His own children! And He HATES us!”

“Brother, please...” started Castiel, unsure what to say at this point. Gabriel was raving. And right before the palace, standing right before His presence...

Gabriel made a motion again through the air with his hand, as if waving the thoughts away. “Yeah, yeah. You can't see it. At least, you can't see it _yet_ ,” he added, a mischievous grin once again appearing on his features. “But really, Castiel, if you really have to ask yourself a question about Him, ask yourself this – what kind of a Father sends his own children out to do what we just did tonight? And what must that Father think of those children that did it unquestioningly?”

They didn't speak a word to each other the rest of the way, Gabriel opening the door to the palace with no flourish, his head hanging so that he studied the ground. Castiel started forward when Gabriel put a hand on his shoulder, looking him in the eyes.

“Just... Castiel... just, could you let Him know,” he said haltingly. “Just let him know that you really weren't the only one. Tell Him... that I'm sorry.” Gabriel's head sunk again, any trace of the misfit in him absolutely gone. “Could you please do that for me Castiel? He won't speak with me. Tell Him I'm sorry that I let Him down.”

All that Castiel could do was to meet Gabriel's gaze once more and nod, gripping him tightly on the shoulder for assurance. _What a horrible day in Heaven_ , he thought. _Me having to reassure someone like Gabriel..._

 

The space beyond the door opened up into a great library. Books on shelves towered and stretched in every direction, and Cherubs moved among them, sorting and fetching books and scrolls and parchments, bringing them to a large, wooden desk in the middle of a marble floor, a sun depicted and raised in relief from the marble in gold directly underneath it. There were two chairs there, one to the side, where a rather bookish looking Angel sat with a quill and literally thousands of parchments piled high in stacks around him, his feather scratching the surface swiftly and effortlessly, flying down the pages. He only briefly glanced at Castiel before returning to his work. _The Metatron_ , Castiel thought, _inscribing the Will of God._ In the other great golden, throne-like chair sat a very weary and misplaced looking old man, a withered frame in a hermit's robe and dark, Nubian skin hanging off a skeletal form, with sparsely arranged tufts of white hair growing in all directions from his head and chin. A weak and tired figure in the middle of all of this splendor. _Father...._

The form that He took never stayed the same, of course. Sometimes female, sometimes male, sometimes a proud, young warrior, other times a scholarly and plump poet, sometimes a trio of beings, and sometimes... just Light. For that matter, the room in the palace changed as well. For Castiel, it was the great library today. But it could also appear as literally anything in all of Creation. But for all of this, there was no mistaking Him. _This is Father..._

“Would it help if I told you that I gave them all a second chance?”, God asked Castiel, not looking up from his book, his voice dry, tired and sad. When Castiel didn't respond, He looked up and met his gaze with red-rimmed eyes. They were so... old. So very old. And so very tired. He smiled a little smile and continued. “The babies, I mean. I gave them all a second chance at life. One where the game is rigged in their favor a bit. Enough happiness and fortune for ten lifetimes, for the one they were cheated out of.” He turned a page in the great volume before him. Castiel stared at the book in momentary confusion... it seemed balanced... but impossibly balanced... a perfect symmetry on each side, and did it just suddenly appear as a great scale to him? God smiled at him again. “They will remember nothing of tonight, of course. Does that sound fair to you, Castiel?”

Castiel could not wrap his head around the concept, but the idea did sound generous to him... and it was, after all, Father's will... but the blood...

God regarded Castiel for a moment and turned his head away. “Of course you're right. You're right. The damage was done, nothing will erase that. Mostly for you. And for me.” He sighed heavily and shook His head, staring mournfully at His book. “Never can seem to get the balance completely right.” Castiel noticed that the feeling of balance about the book was gone now. It just appeared as a great tome, nothing special.

Castiel had no idea what to say. God did have a tendency to seem... upset at Himself more often than not. Instead, he decided to find out what he had been summoned for. “Father, you sent for me,” he began.

“He's wrong you know,” God replied. He watched Castiel for a breath, and continued. “Gabriel. He's wrong. It wasn't a test. I wasn't trying to prove a point, or see for myself how far you'd go. Or if any of you would doubt me. It just happened. That's how it works. You... you just happened, Castiel, and it surprised me as much as yourself.”

“Father, everything happens according to your Will...”

God shook his head, amused. “And how arrogant would that be? My will, absolute, and unlimited power to wield it. What a disaster. And boring!” he added, gesturing at the books all around Him. “Look at all of these, Castiel... every word of my Will and Deed ever recorded. Every whim, every story, and still being written. And do you want to know a secret?” He leaned forward conspiratorially, a twinkle in his old eyes. “I'm only aware of a fraction of it. And only a fraction of it ever truly or ever will have truly occurred.” He leaned back and let out a short chuckle, Castiel missing the humor entirely. ”I never wield my own power, Castiel, I sit in the eye of the hurricane, and watch the story freely form. I learned that a long time ago, that the rules apply to me as well... me most of all, in fact... and to actually be so arrogant as to attempt to wield the power of all of this...” He waved his hands dismissively. “Ah, ignore me, sometimes I get lost and carried away by my very own ideas...”

Metatron looked up at that, a questioning look on his face, then returned to his scribblings.

“Father, you sent for me...”

God raised his head again and sighed heavily. “Yes, Castiel, of course. I did. I saw what happened tonight, Castiel... I see, it's one of the things that I do... I see everything.” Castiel's stomach dropped again. “No, no, Castiel, don't worry, please, if anything, I should be apologizing to you, to all of you. It's what the people _expect_ in the world right now. It's what had to happen... I'm not even the one willing this to happen... the destruction blowing through Egypt, I'm just playing the role that's expected of me... the vengeful and protective Father... does that make any sense to you?” God seemed almost on the verge of... tears? _It can't be tears,_ thought Castiel _._

It made absolutely no sense to him. Father's Will was Father's Will, His Word, it was not the expectations of humans that shaped the world... _wasn't that true? What did it matter what the humans expected?_

God smiled. “Of course, of course, forgive me. It doesn't make much sense to you Castiel. I hope, I sincerely hope, that one day it will.” He stopped, seeming to consider his next words carefully before speaking. “Castiel, I called you here to me because a day is approaching where I am going to need you to do something for me. For all of us.”

“Anything Father, of course.”

“Castiel, there is something inevitable that's going to happen. Ever since I cast him out. Ever since he began to truly hate me. Your brother Lucifer is coming. He wants the Earth, my Earth, for himself. He thinks it's some perfect thing.” He shook his head sadly. “He never understands. That's why he couldn't love humans either. Because they aren't perfect. Or his definition of it. Which, I guess, is based on me... but... ”God looked even sadder at that point, “Look at me, Castiel, I am anything but perfect. Look at the things that I do, that happen in my name. How am I perfect?” He stared at the desk a bit and smiled weakly, standing. “Come with me, Castiel, I want to show you something.”

They walked a bit to a stand of books near the table, and God gestured at several shelves. “Guess what these books are, Castiel? These,” he said reverently, stroking the spine of one of the leather bound volumes. “These, are books that I didn't have _anything_ to do with. I don't have a single idea in them, and do you know why?” He asked. Castiel shook his head. “Because the humans wrote them, Castiel. They did it, all by themselves. And more are coming. An unlimited number of them. Millions of worlds, millions of dimensions, each one spawning their own millions of worlds. My grandchildren, in a way...” He smiled broadly. “These, these are the best things that were ever written. _These_ are perfect.” He patted them affectionately and moved back to his seat, Castiel taking his place standing on the other side again. “That's something else that Lucifer never understood. That there are greater things than even me. And I'm afraid some of your brothers follow his thinking.”

Castiel couldn't deny it... the smile on Uriel's face...

God looked down. “Uriel, yes...” he started. _Literally reading my thoughts_ , thought Castiel. “So many of them just… don't understand, and the misunderstanding turned into... such hatred,” he said slowly.

“Castiel, Lucifer will rise. And you have a role to play. We have to keep him, and those of a like mind, from destroying every great story yet to come, from destroying my children. Now, you won't remember any of this. I'll be going away for a while. It must be this way. It will seem to you and your brothers that I am gone, or even dead.” God waved off Castiel as he began to interject. “Lucifer can't have me as a target for his hatred, it must be another that he seeks to destroy. This entire plan will seem to come from the hierarchy of Angels. You won't remember this meeting, or even Egypt, almost none of you will... Naomi will serve well there...” God broke off there, seemingly very upset at something. Castiel frowned, he did not know this name. “I'm so sorry to do this to you, Castiel, to you all, but everyone involved in this must, _must_ act of their own volition, you understand... there will be a soul in Hell. A soul named Dean Winchester...”

At the mention of this name there was a sharp snap as Metatron's quill broke. He was staring slack-jawed at God and had turned pale-white. “Father, you truly can't be thinking of...” God looked at him, all semblance of weariness leaving him in an instant, replaced by stern rebuke. Metatron stopped, flushing red, closing his book and standing. “Father, I would like to be excused for a moment, please,” he said weakly.

God regarded him with eyes afire before answering. “Yes, Metatron, maybe it's best if you took a moment to collect your thoughts before continuing with your work here.” He turned back to Castiel, the fire gone, and the tired eyes returning.

“Castiel. This may be the most difficult thing I've ever asked one of my children to do. And I'm sorry. But there will be a soul in the Heart of Perdition. He is the first son, fallen to Hell as an innocent, and fallen from grace, as he has shed blood there now...”

Castiel's eyes widened. He knew the sequence of the Seals as every Angel did. “Father! You want...”

God gave him an understanding smile. “Castiel, I understand. But if Lucifer is going to escape, it will, it must, be on my terms, even if he... _especially_ if he never knows it.”

Castiel slumped. He knew that Father was right. Lucifer would never stop until he escaped. It was inevitable. Better this way. “I understand, Father.”

God relaxed visibly, the tiredness releasing him, replaced by something that appeared to be contentment. “Thank you, Castiel, thank you.” He hesitated before continuing. “Castiel, there's more. Lucifer cannot escape again, he will need to be checked in his prison, under control even there. Even now he exerts too much power over the world from his cage... Castiel, it isn't just Lucifer I'm concerned with. I think you've seen this too today... this is the hardest part. There are others that are going to be... affected by this...”


	3. The Heart of Perdition

# Chapter 3: The Heart of Perdition

 

_Drip. Drip. Drip._ Dean glanced down satisfactorily as he drew the knife from the wound on the man's chest.  _This one,_ Dean thought,  _with this one I break the record. He won't surrender in years, days or even hours - this one's mine in minutes. Screw you, Alastair._

The man screamed and whimpered in agony and Dean looked closer at his work. “Oh, believe me, it's just going to get worse,” he said. “I don't take any pleasure in it, but there is something to be said for good old-fashioned  _pride_ in your work.”

How long had he been doing this, he found himself asking. Sometimes it felt like there had never been anything else. Only pain. Pain received or pain given. And he was certain of one thing. Pain given was the better choice. He didn't even remember when he broke. He just remembered that it was far, far past the point when he  _should_ have broken. It was all about power down here. Plain and simple. If you were on the receiving end, well, there was no power there. Just stubborn pride, which he had, admittedly, more than enough of. But there was no power to be gained there. They'd tear you apart until Kingdom Come and you'd just get weaker and weaker until you were an empty shell. He'd seen it. He'd seen that happen to...he shook his head, trying to get the image out of it. If you were smart enough, though, and good enough... well, there was power aplenty to be gained. And he meant to have it. Dean had that one thought in his fevered and destroyed mind when he broke to keep him going. I will be strong. Stronger than all of them. I will steal all of that power for myself. Then I will use that power to tear this place to small, bloody shreds. There'd be a reckoning alright. _Hell to pay,_ Dean smirked as the thought crossed his mind.  _Hell to pay._

The knife descended again and rent another jagged wound into the man's lower abdomen, producing a deeper and more panicked scream.  _Drip. Drip. Drip._

 

The Angel descended. He fell through the Earth at breakneck speed, watching the air around him turn to ash and smoke, the tips of his wings curling at the Hellish heat. It was just the border, Castiel knew this. Inside Hell itself, it was cold, black and dark. The only flashes of light existed to reveal the horrors being committed. The only heat from the flow of warm blood. He would have to be fast. An Angel's presence in Hell... especially one coming for  _this_ particular soul... would never be tolerated. Absentmindedly, Castiel wondered if he'd see any of his lost brothers or sisters down here... warped beyond all recognition. He wondered if he could talk to them... bring them back into the fold... 

He dismissed this thought. It was interfering with his concentration. His mission. Find Dean Winchester. Raise him from Perdition. Michael's Sword. The first Seal to Lucifer's cage was already broken. His head swam at this last thought... this  _was_ the plan, wasn't it? Lucifer would rise, Michael would strike him down, the Earth would be reborn into a perfect Paradise. Something... something...  _gnawed_ at him. There was something missing. An important piece of the puzzle. It danced away from his conscious thought every time he tried to grasp it though. He frowned, frustrated.

He landed silently on the black ground. It felt slick beneath his feet. He didn't know if it was blood or water... no, of course it was blood, for there was no water in Hell. He gagged at the sulfurous air, the stench of rotten meat hidden beneath it. Things moved in the shadows, half glimpsed and scurrying for cover. These things would never confront him. The ones that could would come soon, however.

There was a dark mass in the distance, swirling in ashen clouds.  _A palace_ , thought Castiel. As he moved towards it, its shape began to resolve into something familiar...  _Of course_ , he grinned.  _Father's Palace._ Lucifer had always tried in Hell to imitate and recreate God's work, but he lacked something. Always had since he was cast aside.  _There is only hate and hurt here. There is no love._

He ran quickly to the massive, foreboding fortress, he had no time. He could feel them coming for him, he had to get out of sight. He slowed as he approached the gates, eyeing the cruel looking metal spikes and heavy wooden iron banded doors with caution.  _Where are the guards?,_ he thought. The doors stood wide open, not a demon in sight. Castiel was no fool, this was too easy. He glanced quickly around him, trying as casually as possible to see if there were shadows within the shadows around him, waiting to spring. He saw absolutely nothing. There was nothing to be done about it, he had no time for caution. He sprang through the entrance, into the dark passage beyond.

He walked at a brisk pace, his head shooting from side to side constantly, waiting for an attack as he moved to the center of the place. The only sound seemed to be coming from there, a strange mixture of human groans, screams and... _was that music?_

The center of the palace opened up into a jumbled and chaotic scene, a fully formed bazaar literally assembled in the heart of Hell. His nostrils were assailed with the stench of roasting meat he had no desire to know the origin of, blood, urine, animals – a toxic mixture that hung in the air like a film. His eyes watered at it as he looked around. Every sin imagined and some he absolutely couldn't have was being carried out before his eyes in the stalls and tents set up in the massive central square. Demons had humans, or what was left of them, strung up on gigantic, rotten gallows, peeling their skin from their bodies and slapping the strips to the ground like wet rags. Their eyes turned to him and they... _smiled,_ almost in welcome. Hellhounds roamed between the stalls, gorging themselves on the fallen flesh, or other remnants of things that Castiel could not identify. Castiel had to get through this, he had to find Dean Winchester. His instructions were that he was somewhere in this palace, the Heart of Perdition, in some kind of area designed for the perpetual torture of human souls. Castiel felt himself fill up with dismay, this  _entire place_ seemed to serve just that one purpose...

A pair of very large horned demons, nearly ten feet tall, covered in cruel looking armor and weaponry moved through the bazaar, looking from side to side, occasionally picking up a human crawling away or lying in the street and effortlessly flinging them onto piles of corpses... _no, not corpses,_ Castiel realized with horror, _they're still moving..._

He realized that even if the other demons seemed unconcerned with his presence here, these two certainly would not be so tolerant. In fact, they were most likely to raise every alarm possible if they saw him. He ducked into a side alley formed between massive stalls before they looked his way, walking briskly through an alley colored in strange glowing blue and red lights. He glanced at an opening in one of the structures, a gaudy, blinking sign hung over it, flashing “Uncle Maccah's Fun House” intermittently. Several smaller signs offered up the words “Fun!” and “XXX” and “All Nude”, also in gaudy, blinking colored light. A gaunt, tall man in a dirty striped shirt and pants stood in the entrance and flashed him a yellow, rotten-toothed smile. He tipped his top-hat and rapped his wooden cane on the ground, his red reptilian eyes staring intensely at him. His grotesque smile threatened to split his face as it widened slowly.

“Oh, such a beauty here,” he wheezed in a thin, high pitched voice that made Castiel's skin crawl. “such a Light that you have!” His eyes moving lasciviously up and down Castiel's body and made him feel like fleeing...running as far as he could until he was back at Heaven's Gate, as far away from this creature as possible...

“Come inside and play little Angel,” it whined at him. “Come inside and bring it out for Uncle Maccah. Let me see your little Light.”

Castiel was backing away slowly as a woman appeared at 'Uncle Maccah's' shoulder, looking him up and down in disgust. Her face was covered in sores. Her clothes were torn and covered in stains, her bare legs and arms covered in welts and bruises. She grinned and looked up at Uncle Maccah. “ 'E ain't got nothin' to play with, Unca Maccah, “ she cooed at him in a grating, diseased voice. “ _Angels_ ain't got nothin' ta play with.”

Uncle Maccah looked down at her and smiled. “My smart, sweet little Jezebel...” He turned back to Castiel, who had found himself pressed back against the wooden stall behind him, breathing hard. “Come on in anyway little Angel. Let Uncle Maccah watch you plaaaaay.”

Castiel's eyes darted down the alleyway, seeing an opening, an escape at the end, then darted quickly back to the horror in front of him, unfortunately catching a glance inside of Uncle Maccah's domain. Humans lay strewn on the ground, shackled to walls, in all manners and states of arousal and decadence. They looked drained, drool falling from their mouths as they clamored all over each other, unsatiated...

Castiel ran. Ran as fast and as far as he could.

Out of breath, he emerged into the open plaza again, shocked at how even this place had it's brief respites from horror. He felt the open air around him and was actually relieved. It was short-lived, however. Before him stood a long, seemingly endless table, piled high with rotten food and fruit, feces and rotten bones, maggots crawling thorough the piles of offerings...humans crawling through it as well, stuffing their mouths with everything there, including, Castiel realized to his mounting horror...the dismembered limbs of other humans. He sunk to his knees, his eyes wide in horror.  _What am I doing here?_ , he thought.  _Father, why? Father, help me..._

But of course He couldn't. No one had even seen Father in hundreds of years. Father was gone. He had given up on the humans. On the angels. On everything. As Castiel looked through tear stained eyes all around him at this bazaar of pure Sin, he understood why.

_Dean Winchester...._ The thought came unbidden and clear to his mind. He stood on shaky legs and set his jaw, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and desperately tried to focus through the scenes and smells around him. His mission was still here somewhere. An innocent soul trapped in the midst of all of this. He was an Angel of the Lord. Hell itself could not stop him, no matter how hard it tried.

He had taken only two steps forward when a hissing voice like the chill from a crypt spoke to him from behind.

_“And how do you like our little party, dear Castiel?_ ”

Castiel spun, blade in hand, his Grace flaring in defense, it's white Light swallowed up by the murk surrounding him. A very small beacon in the darkness. Before him stood two figures. The one on the left was tall and statuesque, dressed in elaborate robes and he wore a rather comical goatee on his sharp-featured face. His eyes...his eyes were blacker than any abyss that Castiel had ever imagined. Set against his pale-white skin, it seemed like all of the darkness of Hell gathered there in those dark pits.  _Asmodeus_ ...Castiel thought, instantly recognizing him.  _A Duke of Hell._

His partner struck a less imposing figure. A frail... _man?..._ dressed in tattered robes, gray, pock-marked skin hanging off of his bones like curtains. His bald head sprouted random white hairs and moles, but, as with his companion, his eyes were what caught you. Pure malevolence shone from them, piercing through Castiel like actual knives. He could feel himself shiver under their scrutiny. His name was also clear to Castiel. Baal. The greatest of the fallen pagan gods. His bitterness towards the angels and Father was limitless. It was he that had first addressed him.

Castiel was in over his head. Far, far over his head. He could never hope to fight one of these abominations, let alone both of them. He began to back away.

Asmodeus raised his hand in warning. “Don't try it, Castiel. Allthough it appears that you have moved through Hell unimpeded, trust me when I tell you, you were marked the moment you landed here. And you are more than under our control.”

Castiel ignored him. He could not just give up. His mission was too important. And even if they did have him surrounded, he would not be an easy target. He stared back in grim defiance at Asmodeus, his blade coming up.

“Then let's see if I can't take some of you with me into oblivion.”

Asmodeus smiled and said. “Oh, come now Castiel, oblivion would be far, far too easy a way out for you.”

Baal's mouth opened wide, a blackness pouring out of it, reaching for him. Castiel instinctively stepped back, but Baal's mouth just kept opening wider and wider, more and more of the blackness pouring out of it, until Castiel could no longer see his face, or the bazaar, or anything. Only blackness.


	4. The Council of Hell

# Chapter 4: The Council of Hell

  
  


_Cold,_ Castiel thought, as his senses slowly began to return to him. He was lying on his side on a hard, cold, stone floor. His tried to open his eyes, which seemed impossibly dry, and saw a dim hall in his blurred vision. There was a ghostly white shape standing several feet away from him, holding hands with a larger, darker figure. He blinked hard. It began to resolve itself into what appeared to be a little girl, holding hands with a statuesque woman with fiery red hair, wearing spiked armor decorated with demonic symbols. The woman was looking down at the girl as she was speaking.

“But why?” the child pleaded petulantly. “It would be so much fun.” Her face turned to Castiel then, purely white empty eyes seeming to bore through him.

“You know as well as I do that we need to question him first, Lilith,” replied the woman.

The little girl stomped her foot against the hard stone floor, her mouth frowning, arms crossed. She glared at Castiel, a small, malicious smile twisted onto her face as she turned back to the woman. “Just one then? I always wanted a real Angel's feather.”

The woman sighed impatiently. “No, Lilith. Later. And please cut it out with the little girl act. You're almost as old as I am.”

The little girl ripped her hand from the woman and walked quickly towards Castiel's prone form. She leaned over at the waist, cocking her head sideways at him and smiled. “Oh, Angel, you and me, we're going to have such  _ fun. _ ” She flashed him an overly enthusiastic smile and skipped away humming.

The red-haired woman rolled her eyes and strode purposefully towards Castiel once the girl was gone. He felt an iron grip on his shoulder that began to haul him to his feet. “Come along, Angel, we both know you're awake now. There are people waiting to talk to you.”

Castiel allowed himself to be led along... _ no _ , he realized, he was  _ allowing _ nothing. All of the strength seemed to be drained out of him. It was all he could do to stand.

“You have got to be the craziest or the stupidest Angel I've ever heard of, “ the woman offered. “I mean, a one Angel incursion on Perdition?” She gave a derisive snort. “We're defended here well enough against ten-thousand of you flying eunuchs. What in the hell did you think one of you was going to pull off?” She spun him around to face him, studying his face. After a moment she turned him around again and continued to march him down the long, torch-lit corridor. “I'm going to go with crazy, then. You don't look stupid, and you also look like you actually believed you would have gotten away with this.”

They reached an ebony door, which the woman opened with one hand. It was elaborately decorated with twisted carved figures, demonic script written over it's arch. Castiel didn't have time to read it before he was roughly shoved through into an open chamber. He did manage to catch something about the “Originators of Sin”, however.

He looked around and felt whatever hope he had left for escape evaporate. The room was vast, built into a dome-like circle. The floor was rough-hewn polished stone, like obsidian. There were golden thrones raised high behind podiums cast in black stone. The roof opened up onto a red-fire sky. Dark clouds boiled incredibly rapidly across it. But it was the figures seated in those high thrones that Castiel had really took notice of. Seated there high above him were absolutely all of the most powerful Demon Lords in Hell. As an Angel of the Lord and soldier of Heaven, he was keenly and painfully aware of their identities.

Asmodeus and Baal were there, of course, Asmodeus seated in the very center of the semi-circle. Another figure leaned there in his chair oozing a dark fluid from his skin and black armor. Flies were buzzing around his diseased presence. Beelzebub. The one seated to his immediate right wore a striking golden crown, brilliant crystalline armor, her perfect face and hair striking an impossible contrast to not only her neighbor, but seemingly with all of Hell itself. Mammon. Next to her sat a barbaric looking demon covered in jutting horns, holding a wickedly curved knife in one massive paw, running gouges down the podium in front him and grinding his sharp teeth. He glared in pure fury at Castiel. Aamon. Next to him was a filthy, small, rather obese looking demon dressed in what looked like a tattered sleeping gown. He was snoring loudly, his eyes completely shut tight and his mouth hung open, his legs elevated onto the podium in front of him. Belphegor. The little girl stood with a group of demons under the podiums. They were armored like his red-haired escort, and assembled like knights surrounding a throne. She looked strangely out of place amidst the assembled warriors. At the same time, she seemed... _ in charge  _ of them all.

Castiel looked straight back at them. If he were to meet his end here, as it clearly appeared, then so be it. He would meet it as a servant of Heaven. Without fear. Faith in Father gave him strength.

“As you can imagine, “ began Mammon, not standing, or even bothering to look at Castiel, “we will not be bidding you welcome here, Angel. But you did visit, welcome or not. Why?”

Castiel answered with silence. They would not intimidate him.

Aamon rose, spitting, pure, uncontrolled rage, “Answer your betters, you little winged maggot, or I'll have your eyes!” he bellowed. Castiel had the impression he was a heartbeat away from springing down from his chair that very moment to do just that. Belphegor stirred a bit, and rolled sleepy, annoyed eyes at his fellow Demon Lord, then closed them again as Asmodeus stood, smiling indulgently at Aamon. He waited a bit as Aamon's massive chest rose and fell, his breathing slowing.

“Aamon, thank you, I promise you that if this Angel transgresses too far, “ he shot a knowing glance at Castiel, “ we will all be more than happy to turn him over to your...administrations.”

Aamon sat heavily back down, his throne actually shuddering under his muscular bulk, a smile breaking out on his face, a serpentine tongue lashing over sharp teeth, apparently satisfied.

Mammon spoke again, this time her golden eyes directly catching Castiel's own. “We want, quite simply, to know why you are here Angel. That's all. A simple piece of information. I assure you, you are not compelled to answer us. Nor be truthful. Although, believe me when I tell you, we will be able to tell if you are being untruthful as easily as if you had come in here declaring that you were Lucifer himself.”

At this, Beelzebub smiled.  _“Like the smell of sweet perfume in the air, Lies...”_

Mammon continued. “Not answering us can have...other unpleasant consequences as well.” Aamon's grin widened even further, the knife gouging into the podium more rapidly. She shrugged nonchalantly. “It's entirely up to you. But rest assured, if you choose not to tell us, any chance whatsoever of us letting you go, or accomplishing your mission, will be completely and utterly gone.”

Asmodeus smiled indulgently. “Castiel, there are those of us that have wagered that you are simply mad. If that's indeed the case, then we will just send you from here. Oh, with several new runes permanently carved into your flesh to prevent you from just coming back, of course. But again, with no chance of achieving whatever goal you may or may not have here.” He let this last hang in the air for a while before continuing. “But let's be frank, here Castiel. There is only one reason any sane, rational Angel would have come here alone, to the Heart of Perdition. We are, naturally, as aware of the sequence of Seals as you are. And more than aware of whom you've come to retrieve”

At this Castiel started.  _Of course they know_ .... he thought. They would know the keys to Lucifer's prison like an Angel knew the Gospel. They would know the Rules of Blood conditional to Michael's vessel.

_“We knew that once we broke the first Seal, that one of you bastards of the Lord would try to raise him out, “_ hissed Baal.  _“We only kept him alive here to protect the Archangel's vessel from you.”_

“Just tell em the whole plan, why dontcha...” murmured  Belphegor, turning on his other side, eyes still closed. Baal glared at him.

Mammon shook her head. “It's no great secret, Belphegor. The Angels would have to know that once the soul was raised from here, that we would be hunting it down, ” She arched a perfect, golden eyebrow at Castiel. “Wouldn't you now? So what's the answer, Castiel? Do we have a mad, rogue Angel on our hands? Or have you actually come willingly here to spring our little trap?”

Castiel stared back at the Council of Hell, his thoughts racing.  _ They know everything.  _ And it seemed like they were just going to let him do it. He was, as they had surmised, well aware that the armies of Hell would be trying to kill him and Dean Winchester the second that he raised him from here. He had ways to protect him. Heaven was prepared for that. The Demon Lords probably knew it too. Then why just let him do it? Why wasn't Dean Winchester already dead? The answer struck him suddenly and clearly. He was standing in the Heart of Perdition. He had just witnessed all of the sins of man with his own eyes.  _ They're gambling, _ thought Castiel, hope welling up in his heart, a smile actually rising to his lips.  _ Their confidence and Pride makes them think they can stop Michael from striking Lucifer down...they're actually gambling they can stop me and stop the Will of Heaven. _

Castiel stood up straighter. Beelzebub leaned forward, his tongue tasting the air, as all eyes of the Council, Belphegor - one lazy, half-opened eye included – looked towards him.

“I'm here for Dean Winchester. The First Righteous Soul to shed blood in Hell. I'm here to raise him from Perdition.”


	5. A Detour

# Chapter 5: A Detour

One of the demons standing under the podiums escorted Castiel out of the Council Chamber. There was a great roar and a curse from Aamon after Castiel had made his statement. He had then proceeded to plunge his knife into his chair and storm out.

“He was one of the ones that bet you were just crazy,” the female demon said. “Just cost him big-time.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye as she walked him down the corridor towards a large wooden gate, apparently an exit. The little girl Lilith was glaring at him as well, her fists clenched. The demon glanced at her on the way out of the door and grinned. “ Her also. I'm Ruby, by the way. The local expert here on all things Winchester.”

Castiel didn't respond. He glanced at the demon briefly and continued following her.  _Let her talk,_ thought Castiel.  _The more information that you give me, the better._ And demons - demons  _loved_ to talk. There was a wisdom in remaining silent in the presence of such pride.

“Aren't you the least bit curious as to why they're going to let you just take Michael's vessel out of here?” she asked pointedly, continuing out of the gate into the blasted landscape outside. “Or why they didn't just kill him in the first place after the first Seal was broken? Please tell me that you didn't buy that crap about trying to lure an Angel here.”

The Council of Angels were well aware that the Demons were allowing Dean Winchester to stay alive, otherwise they would have never tried to rescue him in the first place. They just had no idea why. “Not really, I just have my mission, why don't you enlighten me?” He replied, playing along.

Outside the front gate was a large, horse-drawn carriage. Six gigantic flame-red stallions were hitched to it, a figure in tattered robes seated on the driver's seat. Ruby crossed her arms and hung her head before leading them to it and let out an exasperated breath. “I mean, really? Really? They can't get a Ferrari or something down here? Or a Ford? It's not like we didn't found the company. But, I mean, a  _carriage?_ How stuck in the middle ages are they anyway?” She climbed in and moved aside as Castiel followed her in. “Absolutely corny...” she muttered as she settled into her leather cushion.

They heard the snap of the whips outside and they began to move off. Ruby was sulking. After a while, she began to speak again. “The truth of it is, they  _want_ you to rescue Dean Winchester. They have no problem whatsoever as to letting him be Michael's vessel. They would prefer it, actually. No wild cards, no tricks. They've broken him once already, they like their odds that Lucifer will break him again. That's  _if_ he actually says OK to any of this, which, judging by our own observations of him, he won't – like ever. No matter how bad it gets up there. That's the real reason they kept him around. You, my friend, are doing us  _all_ a huge favor.”

Castiel looked at her in confusion. “Why are you telling me any of this?” he asked.

Ruby smiled. “Two reasons, “ she replied holding up her fingers. “One; it doesn't matter at all that I tell you this. You'll spring him anyway, because that's your mission, and you're thinking he'll let Michael in and slay Lucifer no matter what we think down here, and two; I'm not like those ancient idiots on the Council. They couldn't tell the truth if they tried. It's a principle with them. Me? Well, I found out the truth hurts worse than anything else in the universe, so I embrace it - in all of it's naked glory.”

“You aren't a  _loyal_ servant of the Council, I take it?” asked Castiel.

“Wow, you're  _sharp_ , “ Ruby teased. Castiel bristled. “I mean, they run things, for now. But I'm integral in breaking the Cage open. And so are several of my close friends and allies. It's waaaay past time for some new blood around here. There's a new order rising, one ready to rule the modern world when Daddy breaks free.”

As if to emphasize her point, the carriage bounced violently against a large rock, causing Castiel and Ruby to land hard on their seats. Ruby shook her head in disgust.

“Look Angel, “she continued. “You're going to do your thing, and I'm going to do mine. You keep right on trying to get Dean Winchester to say 'yes' to Michael, “ she grinned widely at that, shaking her head.” And I'll see what I can do to get him help me with my little project, or at least keep him out of it.”

“And what would that be?” Castiel pushed.

“Now, see? There's truth and then there's  _too much_ truth...” she grinned wickedly at him. “You'll just have to figure that one out all by yourself, won't you? Call it a 'quest for enlightenment.' ”

Castiel turned his head away. This one was no prideful fool. She was intelligent and dangerous. He would have to keep a very close eye out for these plans of hers that she had mentioned. And if she ever dared to show up on Earth...

“Are we going to Dean Winchester now?” Castiel asked.

“Pitstop, “ replied Ruby, laughing briefly at a private joke. “It's on the way. I wanted to show you something.”

 

They bounced around roughly for a few hours in relative silence. Ruby had apparently said what she had wanted to say, and Castiel knew that he could get no more useful information out of her. They pulled to a stop and Ruby opened the door. Castiel stepped out staring at a large, stone door, inscribed with demonic script that he was... _ unable? _ to read. He squinted at it. All Angelic or Demonic writing should have been an open book to him...but these letters. They  _ shifted  _ under his scrutiny. As if hiding themselves, ducking out of sight before he could focus on them.

Ruby smiled, reading his thoughts. “Yeah, you probably don't actually want to read that. It can have...an effect on your sanity.” She pressed her hand to a symbol in the lower left hand corner of the door, and it began to scrape open into a dark, earthy passage, a rotting smell coming from it. A blast of cold air hit Castiel in the face. She grabbed a smoking, lit torch from a bracket and started in, glancing over her shoulder. “Stay close to me, Angel. You really,  _ really _ don't want to get lost down here.”

The dank air pressed around Castiel like a weight. He could feel  _ pressure _ on his body as they moved on, Ruby not hesitating at several twists and turns, selecting corridors that branched off from the path quite often. There were no markers that Castiel could detect. No distinct patterns in the walls. They walked for what seemed like hours, the weight on him increasing the further in they went. He felt completely lost. It was a perfect Labyrinth. He began to feel nervous. What was in here? Is this where they had hidden Dean?  _ Unlikely, _ Castiel thought. The demon had said that she wanted to show him something, hadn't she? With alarm, he noticed that he was having trouble remembering -  _ anything _ . His thoughts were murky, hard to reach.  _ Where was he? _ Castiel began to panic, a feeling of helplessness rising in him, threatening to swallow him whole.

Ruby glanced back at him, frowning. “Almost there, Angel, hang on. I know. But you're really going to want to see this, though. It's worth the effort.”

Castiel found himself clinging to her arm like a drowning man or a child to his mother in a swarming crowd. He felt only pure fear.

Suddenly, jarringly, the path opened out into a center carved out from the dark earth. Castiel felt himself gulping in the rancid air in deep breaths, feeling the weight suddenly lifted off of him. Ruby clapped him on the shoulder knowingly. “Yeah, we can't have just anyone wandering in here, y'know? So, we took certain...precautions.”

Castiel felt another  _ presence _ in the open space with him and looked up. He found himself staring at what seemed like the Heart of Hell itself. The earthen walls were carved with incredibly elaborate sigils. And in the center of the room, flames rose from what appeared to be a dark hole ripped into the air itself. Impossibly dark, impossibly deep, it seemed to Castiel like he was staring into eternity, but an eternity of absolute _ nothingness _ . He literally felt himself getting smaller and smaller, reducing to nothingness, drawn along with the void itself. It was wreathed in cold, shifting black flame, not casting off any light, rather seeming to draw it out of the air around it. There were robed figures standing around the room, some with their faces turned towards them, their milk-white dead eyes staring at him before reverently turning back to the hole. _ It's freezing here _ , he thought, shivering violently. Ruby walked closer to the massive pit, staring at it with open adoration on her face.

“Can you hear him, Angel?” she asked. “If you listen closely, you can hear him sometimes. He was your brother once, wasn't he?”

Castiel went numb.  _ Was this...?  _ Had she brought him to  _ Lucifer's Cage _ ? He stepped back, his hand seeking the safety of the earthen wall. Ruby watched him with a smile on her face. Castiel began to sweat, despite the cold.

“ _ Castiel.... _ ” the sound came like a whisper from the void. But unmistakable. It was the Morning Star. Castiel's eyes widened in panic.  _ Dear Father, he knows that I'm here... _

_ “...and on the Fifth Day,  _ your _ day, Castiel, Father created the birds and the fish. Isn't that nice, brother? I always loved a bit of pheasant and trout for an evening repast.”  _ Castiel heard a deep, sarcastic laugh emanating from the darkness.

Castiel turned immediately on Ruby. “Take me away from here.”

Ruby put on a demure, exaggerated frown. “Aw, come on Angel, not one for the family reunions? I thought you two would have _ so _ much to catch up on.”

Castiel realized suddenly that they had never taken his blade away.  _ Why would they? _ he thought.  _ They could have destroyed me whenever they wanted to.  _ It came out in a flash as he pressed it to Ruby's throat. He leaned in close to her and hissed. “Take. Me. Away. From. Here. Now.”

Ruby grinned, but Castiel saw her eyes quickly dart to the silver blade at her neck.“ Fine. Have it your way.”

“Spoil-sport,” she added as she headed back into the tunnel.

Castiel would take anything, even the cold, endless dark of the Labyrinth again instead of this. He took a final look over his shoulder. The blind watchers had all turned to him, grinning, blackened teeth shown in pale faces. He swore that he saw his long lost brother's face in them.


	6. Hell's Highway

# Chapter 6: Hell's Highway

 

In the tunnel Ruby was talking with one of the blind watchers. He handed her an ornate wooden box and whispered something in her ear. Castiel could barely make out her hushed tones as he neared.

“...absolutely sure that he said it wasn't a threat to him?”, she was asking as she flicked her eyes to the entrance and saw Castiel approaching them. She smiled, turning fully to him. “Well, that's a relief then, isn't it?” She gave her mouth a sarcastic twist and offered out her hand for Castiel to take. “Take it, I won't bite.” He hesitated before answering.

“Thank you for the offer, but no. I have experienced what the Labyrinth did to me once. I will not be caught off guard by it again.”

Ruby shrugged, still smiling. “You sure?” When Castiel nodded, her eyes twinkled knowingly. “Well, we'll just see about that, won't we?” She tucked the box under one arm and strode purposefully into the earthen passage. Castiel shot a final glance at the blind watcher, and hurried after her before he lost sight of her route.

Ruby was standing immediately before the ornate entrance door around the very first turn. She looked over her shoulder at Castiel, smiled again, and pushed it open with a flourish. She gave a mocking bow, her hand sweeping wide indicating the open space outside, the carriage waiting right where they had left it.

Castiel started, his eyes widening in puzzlement. He went back and looked around the corner that he had just came from, but the entrance to the Cage was gone, just earthen passages were there now. He turned back to Ruby, his brow creasing.

“Yeah, so much for 'no more surprises,' huh?”, she mocked. Castiel straightened, his face regaining it's composure. “Oh c'mon, it's a pretty good trick, right? We only have to guard the way in, you know? Doesn't make sense to have to walk all that way just to get back out. Murder on your feet.”

When Castiel didn't respond, she let out a sigh and strode towards the carriage, muttering something about “no sense of humor.” Castiel followed and watched as Ruby's stride slowed, her neck craning to look around the side of the carriage where something was standing next to it, waiting.

A sleek, modern, bright red sports car was parked there, a Ferrari symbol on it's hood, it's wheels smoking a bit. Leaning against it was a Demon in a suit, his red eyes smiling mirthfully at Ruby as he looked from her to the horse drawn carriage. Ruby pressed two fingers into her eyes and muttered quietly, almost silently, “I hate my life...I really, really hate it.”

The Demon's grin widened as he strode forward to Ruby. “Now, now pet, don't be petulant. I get along with a few perks is all.” He regarded the carriage again with obvious disdain. “Now _you_ , on the other hand, I have _no idea_ whom you've managed to piss off...” he shook his head slowly.

“It's for the Angel, dumbass,” Ruby replied venomously. “ _They_ wanted to make an _impression._ ” She rolled her eyes.

The Demons' eyes moved hungrily to the box tucked under Ruby's arm. “Is that it, then?” He asked, his eyes full of greed, his tongue wetting his lips.

“Yep, the real deal. One-hundred-percent genuine. Just had it proofed.”

“So, the little thief came through,” the Demon said thoughtfully, his hand stroking his chin. “I may have to reconsider her deal.” He shrugged dismissively. “Or not. Can't be seen to be making too many exceptions, can I? So, did you find out?”, he asked cautiously. “Is it...a danger to him as well?”, his eyes flicking to indicate the entrance to the Labyrinth.

Castiel was watching this exchange with great interest, hoping to glean a clue as to what Ruby was up to, or if any of her aforementioned designs would come to light. Ruby seemed to notice, however, shifting a bit uncomfortably at the last question, her eyes darting quickly to Castiel before answering.

“He...indicated that it would be in everyone's best interests if this thing served it's purpose, then was kept as far away from him as possible. Or even destroyed.”

The Demon watched Ruby for a few seconds, his eyes studying her closely, still smiling warmly before responding. “Interesting. Not really what I expected.” He gave her an open smile, cocking his head and shoving his hands into his pockets. “Well, I suppose that's what we do, then isn't it?”

Ruby smiled back, a hint of what seemed to Castiel like warning behind her eyes. “That's exactly what I would recommend here, yes.”

The Demon grinned back, taking the box from Ruby and opening his car door. “Well then, things to see, people to do and all...”

Ruby held out a hand “Wait, “ she practically shouted in panic.” Do you...umm...suppose we could catch a ride?”, she asked, almost shyly, glancing back over her shoulder at the carriage.

“Sorry love,” the Demon answered. “Only room for two here - or three if you get _really_ creative...” He glanced at Castiel with open disdain. “But I would never, ever let an Angel on these seats. I hear they molt.” He flashed a too-wide smile again, slammed the door, and, wheels spinning, drove off at breakneck speed.

“Sonovabitch,” Ruby growled, catching Castiel by the arm and turning him back towards the carriage. “C'mon, “ she sighed. “At least it's not far to go from here.”

They drove off. Castiel moved the curtain back a little to peer out at the blasted landscape. The sky was dark red, the dark, boiling clouds in constant motion. There were no signs of trees or animals of any type, except gigantic, winged hell-bats circling lazily in the sky, occasionally swooping down at incredibly speed to pick a still moving body off of the ground. The sides of the road were strewn with all types of smoking debris - ramshackle buildings, overturned carts, wrecks of metal and broken glass. Bodies, both demon and human, moved through them, hunters and hunted. Castiel shook his head at the ruin of it all. It's as if Lucifer had tried everything to build a city, a civilization to mirror the earth, gave up partway through it, and set it all aflame.

After a little while the debris gave way to vast fields with large, dark figures moving through them. They seemed to be poking into the ground with large implements, occasionally coming up with writhing human forms. It wasn't until a bit later that he realized that there were pits there dug into the rocky ground. And apparently, those pits were filled with fallen humans. The smell was overwhelming. It seemed that the human's bodily functions never ceased once they were here. They still felt hunger and pain. They just couldn't die. _They must have gone insane by now_ , Castiel found himself thinking. _Or at least I hope they have._

They finally came up on a hulking iron building, it's entire structure constructed of rusted and blackened iron bands, each one more than ten feet wide. There were gibbets and cages surrounding it, attached to the walls themselves along the structure's many stories and towers. It was a haphazard assembly of suffering and misery. The carriage stopped and Ruby stepped out, Castiel following.

They moved into the fortress past two horned demonic guards that had growling Hellhounds on chains standing next to them. The Hellhounds showed their dagger-like teeth to Castiel as he moved past them. Once inside, he saw hundreds of cages immediately to either side of them, forming halls. Humans lay huddled in them, or occasionally, there was a demon or two in there with them, ripping into them with various weapons, their screams mingling with the others from other cages, crying and moans as well. Everywhere was the smell or rot, blood and sulfur. Castiel almost gagged. The thick smoke stung his eyes. This was most assuredly a place that no Angel had ever tread.

They walked past the cages and Ruby led them to a staircase winding down into the black rock. Castiel followed as they worked their way down, seemingly for miles, passing many landings leading off into halls lined with more cages.

“What is this place?” Castiel finally found himself asking, hoping to break the spell of absolute bleakness that had settled into him the further down they went.

“The Halls of Torment,” Ruby answered, shrugging.” Or Halls of Torture, I can never remember. I never come down here if I can help it. It's strictly for sick puppies like...”

She trailed off as a Demon approached her, his skin a sickly yellow-green, a wide-toothed filthy grin showing on a face featuring clever, malicious eyes. He wore a leather apron, covered in so many layers of blood that it's original color was completely unrecognizable. In his hand he held a bloody surgical scalpel, and under a leather strap in his waist were tucked many other cruel looking bone and metal implements of torture. He opened his arms wide as if greeting an old friend. “Ruby!”, he smiled.

“Alastair,” she finished, not returning an iota of the affectionate greeting.

The Demon looked at Castiel then, his eyes widening and grin disappearing. “Well I'll be...they _actually_ sent one down here to get him?” He looked Castiel up and down, his mouth turning in disgust and disappointed appraisal. “Not much of one, though. You'd think that they would have sent a battalion, or one of his big brothers, huh?”

Castiel met his gaze. “One of us is more than enough to handle monstrosities like you, filth.”

Alastair dramatically feigned hurt. “Now, is that any way to speak to someone that has been taking such good care of your prize for you?” He smiled.

“Somehow I believe your definition of 'good care' and mine are vastly different,” Castiel answered, not breaking his stare.

Alastair continued to smile, malice in his eyes, before finally glancing away with a shrug. “Fine, I suppose I will get no thanks for all of my hard work then. “ He tucked the scalpel into his strap and gestured with one hand to a hallway filled with closed iron doors. “This way, then, choir-boy. Time to meet your prize.”

 


	7. Dean

# Chapter 7: Dean

  


“Welcome to Winchester Hall, “ said Ruby. “They moved them here after the Seal was broken. I haven't really seen Dean since then.”

Alastair looked back at her. “It's not like you don't have an open invitation to come by any time, darling. Really, it can get so...repetitive down here. You should stop by more often.”

Ruby frowned, disgusted. “Luckily, after today, there won't be any need for that.”

“Well, there's always the other one, “ said Alastair, stopping and pulling back an iron window slide at eye level from a door to his immediate left. He looked inside, smiling before turning back to them. “Have a peek, choir-boy, it may be...educational.”

Castiel moved to the open window, looking inside the room. Huddled in the corner was an older human with black hair streaked with gray. He looked up with sorrowful eyes, his unshaven face showing no signs of color. On seeing Castiel, his eyes widened a bit, in recognition perhaps, and his mouth opened. He tried to speak, but only a dry, croaking sound came out. To Castiel, it sounded as if he were trying to ask him a question.

Alastair asked it for him. “He wants to know if you're here to rescue his son. Go ahead, let him know. It won't make any difference with that one.”

Castiel looked back in. “You must be John Winchester, then, the father. In that case, yes, I am here to raise Dean from this place. He'll be safe.”

What passed for a look of relief shined briefly in the man's eyes, before his head sunk back to his chest, sobbing silently. Alastair slammed the iron window shut before looking at Castiel, shaking his head. “You would think that someone that did as much 'good' work as that one would be in Heaven playing harps and bingo with all of you right?”, he asked rhetorically. “No, not that one. He's down here for a _whole_ 'nother reason, soul-bound contract or not.” He strode off to the end of the hall, where behind a black iron door, Castiel could hear the sounds of muffled screams.

“What are you doing to him in there?”, Castiel asked, worry creasing his brow.

Alastair laughed loudly. Ruby winced. “To _him_ ? Oh, that's good. That's really, really good. _To_ him...”

“Castiel...”, Ruby began.

Alastair cut her off. “Castiel...is it? Well, Castiel, it might seem to you like a simple matter of just laying your hand on him and raising him out of here, correct? That what you're thinking? But no dice, choir-boy. Y'see, I'm good at my work. I'm really, _really_ good at it, “ He paused meaningfully, glaring with open hatred at Castiel. “You might find that your prize is a bit more... _acclimatized_ to it here than you might have expected. It might even be that you might find it difficult for you to get him to go.”

“Alastair, I can't believe that you'd be stupid enough to openly defy the Council's orders...” Ruby began.

“I'm 'openly defying' nothing, you little bitch,” spat Alastair. “Watch your tone.” Ruby glared back at him, her eyes burning with fury. “I'm stating a fact. They were the ones that wanted that Seal broken. Is it my fault that you have to break the human as well?” He turned back to Castiel. “ Try it choir-boy. Give it your _best shot._ But let me tell you. He's become one of my favorite students. A real prodigy. My money's on you _never_ getting him out of here. At least willingly.” He turned on Ruby again. “I did my job, there's no blame here to be layed on me. Either the Angel convinces him to go, or he stays – either way, it's a win-win for me.”

With that Alastair violently turned a key in the lock on the door and swung it open, striding off back into the murky darkness of the hall.

Castiel looked at Ruby, who was clenching her fists, her eyes boring holes in Alastair's back. “Keep it up, asshole, I'm just waiting for my opening...” She looked back at Castiel and let out a calming sigh. “Unfortunately, he's not entirely wrong here, Angel. You're going to have to convince him to leave, And that's going to take some _very_ serious convincing. Hope you're up to it.”

Castiel wondered if he could just force Dean out of Hell, but, as if reading his mind, Ruby continued, “And don't try just yanking him out. You'll burn his soul up. Nobody wins.” She considered Castiel for a second. “Do you know what you're doing here? Taking a soul out of Hell intact is really tricky. Those human souls,” she said, shaking her head. “they're like time-bombs. One wrong move, and boom. Nothing but ashes...not so good for the bomb-squad, either.” She squinted at him. “I did explain to you that we want this as well, right? Please tell me you know what you're about to do.”

He looked at her. Of course, no, he had no previous experience doing anything like this. The mission had been stated to him rather simply. He sighed. Nothing, _absolutely_ nothing on this mission had gone simply. Reluctantly, he shook his head no.

Ruby crossed her arms, considering. “You know, you aren't like any angel I've ever heard of. Sometimes, you're like the _opposite_ of arrogant. OK, here's the deal – you're going to have to make him feel safe leaving with you. Then you're going to have to remind him that this place,” she waved her arm in a half-circle. “is not his home. That's going to be tricky. When his soul starts to return, it's going to burn, Castiel. You're going to have to protect both of yourselves from that.” She shrugged. “I assume that the God-squad has some way to do it.”

Castiel was aware of the potency of a human soul. It was a small piece of Father himself. Pure, free and unadulterated. He had no idea, though, how much power was in them, or that they could harm him. He thought that he could contain it, however, and nodded. Ruby nodded back.

“Just do your best. I know the Winchesters, remember? Just remind him that's there's things worth fighting for back in the world. Better things to fight than down here. He'll come.” She gave him a final look, then started away down the hall. Castiel turned to her one last time, remembering their conversation in the carriage about trying to use Dean for her own plans.

“Ruby.”

She turned. “Yes?”, she asked, her eyes a bit wary.

“Thank you for the advice. But if I ever see you again, and especially if you try to interfere with Heaven's Will, I will destroy you.”

Ruby smiled. “Fair enough, I wouldn't have expected anything else” she answered. “Good luck, _we're_ all counting on you,” she smirked, waved her fingers at him, and left.

Castiel faced the open door. He didn't know exactly what to expect anymore. He had been thinking that Dean Winchester would be locked away in a cell somewhere, much like his father was, all hope and will drained out of him. It would have been a simple matter to offer him a way out. He would have gladly accepted. He never thought that he'd have to convince him to leave.

This part made him more uncertain than any other. He had virtually no experience dealing with humans. He had a working knowledge, to be certain, but actual interaction was not his strongest asset. He had observed them as well, but their habits and mannerisms confused him. He would have to be...friendly. Not cold. Warm and welcoming. He straightened and walked through the door.

Inside the darkened room was a bloody table, the carved up man strapped to it mumbling in half-moans, drool running down his chin. He was missing teeth and had bitten off his tongue. Standing to the side of him whistling happily was Dean Winchester. Castiel recognized him instantly from his mission briefing. He wore an apron similar to Alastair's, also covered in various blood and gore. He met Castiel's eyes and squinted. “Who in the hell are you?”, he asked, blood dripping from his knife.

Castiel took in a breath, his eyes tearing themselves away from the blade, from the blood pooling on the floor beside it. It was as they had warned him and at the same time worse than he could have imagined. Dean was practically a demon. _This_ was what he had to convince to leave Hell? His shoulders slumped before he summoned his resolve and met Dean's eyes once more. _Warm and comforting,_ he thought. _Warm and comforting._

“I'm Castiel, an Angel of the Lord,” he answered. “Hello Dean.”

  



	8. Nice to meet you too

#  **Chapter 8: Nice to meet you too**

_Yeah, right,_ Dean thought, smirking, _Angel of the Lord. What the hell was he thinking, that he was some newb here?_

“Hi Alastair,” Dean replied. “Nice trenchcoat. What're you supposed to be, some kind of Holy Detective?” He turned back to the man strapped on the table. “Real piece of work, this one, I actually had him figured as a total wimp, but he's held out for awhile.” He shrugged. “Don't worry, though, I'll break him.” He leaned close to the man's face. “Ain't that right, sweetheart?”

The eyes of the person standing in the doorway wrinkled in confusion. He looked down at himself and picked up an edge of his trenchcoat, examined it, and let it drop. “Why did you just call me Alastair?”, he replied.

Dean let out an exhausted sigh. “Really?”, he answered. _How many times in the past had Alastair come in here in another form,_ Dean thought. _His family, friends, Sam, even as Dean himself, trying to screw with his head. And he thought that he was just going to sucker punch him again? Nice try, jerk._

When the 'Angel' didn't answer, Dean, exasperated, slammed the scalpel back on the table and turned towards him, arms crossed, waiting, eyes opened wide in impatience.

The 'Angel' took a tentative step forward. “Dean, I am _not_ Alastair...I realize that you might be a bit confused right now...” Dean smiled a bit, and the Angel stopped moving forward. Dean watched his eyes flick to the table, a look of horror spreading on his face. _What the hell?,_ he thought. _Even Alastair isn't that good of an actor..._ he squinted harder at the Angel. Dean had developed the ability to see through the disguises if he concentrated hard enough. _Game over,_ he thought, smirking, _I got you asshole..._

To his eyes, the figure standing before him flared in a bright blue-white blinding light, his form barely recognizable behind the glow. Wings spread from his back in dark silhouette, bright white-blue eyes burning into his own.

Dean stumbled backwards into his tray of instruments, scattering them to the floor. They landed with a clatter as his hand went out to brace himself against the wall. “What the hell, man, what the hell??!!”, he sputtered. He stopped concentrating, and the man in the trenchcoat and blue tie were back.

Dean straightened up and moved cautiously forward, looking closer at the figure. Rumpled black suit under a beige trenchcoat, nice shoes, blue eyes watching Dean closely.

“Can you see now?”, the Angel asked. “I am exactly who I claim to be, Dean. I'm an Angel of the Lord. My name is Castiel.”

Dean's head was spinning. He took a step back and raised a hand, waving it back and forth in a dismissive motion. “OK, ok, let's just say, for the sake of keeping things together here, that you are an...angel, which, by the way, I don't believe in at all – what are you doing down here talking to _me_?”

The Angel hesitated before answering. _Is he scared of something?_ , Dean was thinking. “Dean, you've been down here so long, this place has...corrupted you. It's eaten away at your soul. I'm here because I've been sent to raise you out of here. To restore to you your soul. To bring you back to your family. To bring you back home.”

Dean's head turned to the side, an angry frown forming on his face. “Me? You're here for me? “ _What in the hell for?,_ he found himself thinking.

“Yes, Dean, you. God has sent me here to rescue you.”

Dean smiled, not believing a word of it. “And why are you dressed like an accountant?”, he asked sarcastically.

The Angel apparently missed the joke. He looked down at himself again and answered. “My appearance to you is hard to explain Dean. It's taken from your memories...”

“Pal, I've never met you,” Dean interrupted.

“No, Dean, you haven't”, the Angel answered hesitantly. “ Nor have I met you. You're mind is unable to see me in my actual form, so it gets it's input from experience...”

“I just told you,” Dean said impatiently.” I've. Never. Seen. You. Before.”

“If you'd just let me explain....”

Dean crossed his arms, waving a hand indulgently for him to continue.

The Angel sighed, “Thank you. Time doesn't work for Angels like it does for humans. We can pull perception and events from it as we need it, even if we ourselves haven't experienced it ourselves yet. In this place,” Castiel waved his arm, indicating the room.” your mind is compensating as best it can, drawing on my abilities and future experiences to form an image for you.”

Dean stared, wide-eyed. “Well, that made absolutely no sense at all, thanks for that.” He turned away. “OK, ok, “ he said, turning back to the Angel. “So, this isn't the real you, fine. Let's leave it there, no more science-fiction lessons. Back to the first question. Why are you here for me?”

The Angel's brow creased. He met Dean's eyes and moved forward, studying Dean's face. “What have they done to you down here?”, he asked, concern on his face. ”There's no faith left in you. You don't even think that you deserve to be saved.”

Dean felt a wave of deja-vu sweep over him. He shook his head, brushing it away. “Wow, that was weird...have we had this conversation before?”

Castiel frowned. “It might be what I was talking about before, the perceptions of my time-line could be intruding on your...”

Dean cut him off with a violent shake of his hand. “No, stop, I told you, the geek talk is giving me a headache. So, “, he began, straightening up.” you can really just waltz out of here with me, right? Fine. Then I want to make a stop first.”

“Dean, it's not so easy as executing a ritual dance step getting you out of here...”

Dean stared. “Wow, you really are an Angel, aren't you? Total dork.” Castiel looked at him, confused. Dean continued. “No, like I said, there's something that I need to do first.”

Castiel nodded. “I'll do what I can.”

They walked out of the door and started off down the hall. Once past the opening, Dean looked back into the room and ran his hand over the door's frame. “I haven't...”, he started, almost choking in astonishment. “I haven't left this room in years.”

The Angel was looking at him intently again. “What do you keep _staring_ at me like that for?”, Dean asked, frustrated. “You never seen someone show gratitude before or something?”

The Angel looked away quickly, looking at the wall and ceiling before turning back, looking at the ground, “I'm sorry, I don't have a lot of contact with humans, and I...”

Dean stared back before answering. “Forget it, let's go.” _Geez, is this guy ever a mark,_ he reflected. _Absolutely clueless. I've got to get him in a poker game sometime..._

Dean strode down the hall to his father's cell. He turned back to Castiel and indicated the door with one hand. “OK, open this.”

The Angel hesitated. “Dean...my mission was only for you...”

Dean shook his head, crossing his arms. “No dice, Cas. I am going absolutely nowhere without him, “ he said, glancing over his shoulder. “So, either you open this door right now, or take me back to my room, or just flap off back to heaven for all I care, but on this...”, he emphasized, leaning forward. “there is no 'no', got it?”, he asked, raising his eyebrows.

The Angel seemed to be fighting with this in his mind. “Dean, I just can't...”

Dean turned on his heel and headed back to his room, not looking backwards. _Fine,_ he thought. _We do this the hard way, then._ He slammed open the door and grabbed the heaviest iron bar that he had. He gripped it firmly in his hand, testing the weight. “This'll do,” he said to the air, striding back into the hallway. The Angel stood there watching him, a helpless look on his face. “Outta the way, feather-boy, “ he said, brushing roughly past him. He came up to his father's cell door, and wedged the end of the metal rod into the frame. He pressed his foot against the wall and pulled as hard as he could. The door protested under the strain, but didn't open. He wedged the bar back in again, pressed harder, pulled until he felt his bones practically cracking. It still didn't open. Sweat poured down his forehead even after only a few seconds of this.

“Dean...”, came the Angel's voice from behind him.

“Stay outta my way, Angel, I'm telling you...You. Do. Not..want to get in my way right now.”, he grunted, giving another straining pull. The door still would not budge an inch further. The bar broke loose from the frame, falling against the wall, Dean falling next to it. He reached for it to go again when he felt the Angel's hand on his shoulder.

Dean swung the bar as hard as he could at Castiel's arm. “I said _back the hell up_!!”, Dean yelled. The Angel caught it effortlessly in one hand, pulling it from Dean's grasp as easily as if he were a child. He looked at Dean, anger burning in his eyes. Anger and resolution. With a sigh, he threw the bar to the ground, turned to the iron door, and with a shove of his hand, broke it open, the frame exploding in metal splinters. He glared at Dean as Dean stared back in astonishment.

“See, was that so hard?” Dean asked sarcastically, panting hard. He got up from one knee and moved into his father's cell, running to kneel down beside him. “Dad? Dad?”, Dean pleaded frantically, slapping his face. John turned his head slowly to Dean, a small smile forming on his face.

“What're doing here, son?”, he croaked weakly.

“Jailbreak Dad, we're getting you out of here.”

John looked at him, confused. Then his eyes moved to Castiel standing in the ruins of the door frame. His eyes narrowed and he frowned, his head turning slowly from side to side. “No, Dean, no, he's here for...you...” he said, barely able to form the words.

“Yeah, well, I'm changing that plan, “ Dean replied, picking his father off the ground and turning to Castiel. “Either we go together, or if you can only take just one, he goes – I stay.”

Castiel frowned. “Dean, it's not that simple...”

“Wrong!”, Dean shouted, glaring back at Castiel. “It really is that simple. You say you only got one ticket, then it's his.”

Castiel didn't budge, his eyes fixed on Dean. “No, Dean, I do have just one 'ticket', as you put it, and it's just for you. There is no other way.”

Dean looked back desperately at his father. “Listen you son-of-a-bitch, I am... _begging_ you...get him out of here.” He turned back to Castiel, tears forming in his eyes. “You said it yourself. I'm a lost cause. But him, he's down here because of me, do you understand? He signed a contract to save my life. He's here because of me...” Dean's head sagged into his father's chest, his hands pulling at the chains weakly. “Please...please...I'm begging you...” he was saying softly.

“Dean...” came his father's soft voice. “Dean...” Dean looked up at him, his dirty, tear-streaked face watching him intently. His father was shaking his head no again. “ Dean...I'm not here...because of the contract. Demon that made it's...he's dead anyway. I should've moved on...didn't...deserve to...be saved...belong here”

Dean's face bunched up in confusion. “Dad, what're you talking about? What'd you mean you _belong_ here? How many lives did you save when you were a Hunter? How many family's did you bring back together? You don't _belong_ here!”

Dean's father weakly grabbed Dean's wrist and turned his arm over. In few seconds, where once there was smooth skin, red welts and bruises started appearing. Dean's eyes widened, understanding coming to him. His father let go, the bruises disappeared. John grinned at him. “Told you...belong here...now, get the hell out of here Dean.” When Dean didn't immediately respond, his neck straightened , his gaze became suddenly fierce, strong and commanding. “Get the hell out of here. That is an _order._ ”

Dean stared back in bemusement. He stood up slowly. “I'm not leaving you here...you think I give a crap anymore about..”

John's gaze grew even more fierce, his chest heaving. “ You LISTEN TO ME!! I don't give a rat's ass what you give a crap about, it's ABOUT WHAT I GIVE A CRAP ABOUT!”, he shouted. “I gave you an order, Dean! Follow it! FOLLOW IT!!”

Dean stumbled a step back, his hand wiping across his mouth. He turned back to Castiel, his expression numb. He turned back again, meeting his father's red, furious gaze, and walked out the door, all of the fight drained out of him.


	9. Burning souls

#  **Chapter 9: Burning souls  
**

Castiel closed the shattered door as best he could. He glanced inside and saw John had sunk back against the wall again, all of his strength drained out of him. He was wearing a small smile.

Dean was slumped sitting against the wall in the hallway outside of his own cell. Castiel walked tentatively towards him, halting a few steps away, watching him. _Maybe the tears were a good sign,_ thought Castiel. _Maybe it means his soul is coming back. He tried to put his father ahead of himself..._

Dean looked at him and gave him a half-smile. “Well, I guess you win, feather-boy. Happy?”

Castiel answered hesitantly. “Dean, I am not happy that you weren't able to save your father, no. That was a very noble attempt...”

Dean chuckled softly. “Noble?” he turned his head up at Castiel, smiling half-heartedly. “Noble? Man, have you ever got me confused with somebody else.” He stood up, brushing his pants off.

“So, if you don't mind, I've got work to get back to,” he said, heading back to his cell.

Castiel watched his back, dumbfounded. “But I thought...I thought your father just told you to leave here with me.”

Dean continued walking, pointing back at him, “Yeah, well, I told you before that it's either both of us, him, or nothing at all. And I meant it.” He slammed the door behind him. Castiel was left staring at it for a few seconds. He heard the sounds of screams coming from behind it start up again. Castiel set his jaw and strode towards the closed door, furious. He slammed it open. Dean didn't turn around. “What do you think you're doing Dean?”, he asked fuming.

“My job, Cas, my job, if you don't mind.”

Castiel didn't understand this frustrating human for one second. His father had been very clear about his wishes, there was no room for argument... _was there?_ Of one thing he was certain, however, after watching the exchange with his father. Warm and comforting was not going to get anywhere with him.

“Actually, yes, I mind. I mind quite a lot.” Castiel strode over to the table, grabbed Dean's arm and smoothly ripped the scalpel out of his hand.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Dean asked, angrily.

“My job, Dean. _My_ job.” He moved Dean against the wall, staring him down.

“Whoah, easy there, Shawshank, I hope you aren't getting stir-crazy in here already...” Dean smirked.

Castiel tightened his grip. “No more jokes, Dean. I have fought my way literally through Hell itself to get to you here, and either you agree to come with me, or I leave. This is your last chance. The Demons have already told me that they don't have a problem letting me take you from here, and about right now, I'm wondering if I shouldn't take that as a valid warning sign. What is it that you're hoping to accomplish here, in this...pit?” Castiel asked, his head swivelling around to indicate the room, his eyes flaming.

Dean looked back for a long time before speaking. “Did you see him, Cas? Did you _really_ see him? This place,” he spit the last word out. “This place _tore him down_. He's...” Dean stopped, looking away for a second. “He was the strongest person I've ever known...will ever know.” He shook his head. “Not anymore. But me...me, I'm still strong, Cas. I'm still strong. And I'm getting stronger. I keep doing my job, and I'll be stronger than all of these bastards put together. And then...”

Castiel, beginning to understand, finished his thought for him. “...and then you get your revenge. Is that what you want, Dean? Is that what's driving you to stay here? Revenge?”

Dean glared back at him. “You're goddamned skippy, “, he answered coldly. “Now, you gonna let me go, or are we gonna throw down? Cause I don't give a damn about your hulked-out Angel powers, this is my ring, and I'll tear you apart in it.”

Castiel let his arm go slowly. He felt a cold chill run through him as it dawned on him. _I know what he wants,_ he thought. _And I can actually give it to him._

“Dean, “ he started, not breaking his gaze. “if it's revenge you want, then I can offer that to you on a scale that you could never accomplish on your own.”

Doubt showed in Dean's eyes for a second. Doubt, and also curiosity. “Ok, keep talking...” he said slowly.

Castiel hesistated. _This was the plan, wasn't it?_ This is where they were leading him, after all. _Why am I having second thoughts?_ “Dean, I can't go into too much detail yet. But a war's coming. A war between the Hosts of Heaven and Hell itself. If you come with me, I can _guarantee_ you that you'll be the one to strike the final blow and bring this entire realm toppling down.”

Dean watched him carefully, seemingly searching him for any sign of deception. “You can guarantee that?”, Dean asked speculatively. Castiel nodded. Dean took a step towards him, considering. “OK then, how does this work?”

Castiel breathed a sigh of relief. He felt strangely empty. He knew that he was ultimately going to be sacrificing this man to Michael. And somehow, that made him feel very sad. With a sigh of resolution, Castiel moved Dean back away from the wall. “Take off your shirt,” he said. Dean raised his eyebrows a bit and watched him cautiously.

“You sure you ain't getting all stir-crazy on me?”

Castiel shook his head. “I don't understand your reference, but no, I don't believe that I'm going 'stir-crazy'. I need to be able to touch your bare shoulder with my hand is all.”

Dean shrugged. “Whatever, “ he conceded, taking his shirt off. Castiel winced at the lengths of scars and multitude of burn marks all over his skin. They told the story of the years of torture they had subjected him to before he was broken. Dean was watching him.

“We gonna do this, or what?”, he asked impatiently. Castiel reached out his hand, and placed it on Dean's shoulder.

_Pain. White-hot, searing pain shot through Castiel as he felt Dean's soul screaming from inside him. He concentrated, feeling the layers of Hell rushing past him, pulling him and Dean along with them. He felt as if Hell itself was ripping at him, trying to tear off pieces of him as he rose from it. He felt Dean's soul continue to burn in white-hot rage. Something was wrong. He felt himself becoming afraid. He could feel Dean's soul actually burning itself out. Something was very, very wrong. With a sudden, sickening realization, it came to him. Revenge. Dean's soul was burning purely on the thought of revenge. It burned hot, to be sure, but it would exhaust itself quickly. It wasn't enough. He was in danger. He let his Grace flow through his hand, hoping to dampen the burn somehow. He just felt the soul burning smaller and smaller, turning into a cinder. He felt desperate, like a child that had broken something precious, and was trying it's best to put it back together again, but had no idea how to. Castiel began to see light as the Earth began to form before his eyes. They were coming to the place where Dean's body was buried. But Dean was slipping further and further away from him. “No, Dean, no!”, Castiel pleaded with his form. But as they began to materialize, he knew that it was too late. There was a sudden shuddering to the air as the energy of the soul burning and his Grace collapsed, then exploded outwards with impossible force, blasting the trees surrounding them into the ground, their leaves instantly burned and disintegrated. The soul had burned itself out. Castiel let out a cry of defeat and pain._

The world came spinning into view, Castiel's smoking form holding Dean's limp body in his arms, the rot and decay of over a year in the grave evident in his remains. Numbly, Castiel pressed two fingers to his forehead, the wounds instantly healing, the skin returning to it's normal color, the blood rushing through his veins. He watched him closely, but it was no good. His soul was gone, he was holding an empty vessel. He had failed. Consent given without a soul was not true consent, Michael would never be able to enter. And Dean, Dean was gone. This, he realized with muted surprise, hurt him worse than failing in his mission.

Castiel rocked back on his knees, turning his head towards Heaven. _I should have known_ , he thought. _I should have made sure he was ready to come back. Instead, I took the easiest path before me._

He stared back at Dean's body. He looked at his hair gently moving in the wind. The hair looked soft. It fluttered lightly with the intake of each breath. He watched in fascination at his chest rise and fall. Why hadn't he seen this in any other human he had ever observed? He was shocked when he saw a teardrop fall on Dean's face. He reached up a hand and felt his wet cheeks. He took in a sharp intake of air. _What was his Angel's blade doing in his hand?_ He didn't remember ever drawing it. He looked at it, his hand gripping it tightly, his knuckles white, then he looked back at Dean's body. He thought he felt a dry desert night's breeze blowing against his face. He looked at wonder at his hand-print on Dean's shoulder, the raised red welt burned there, marking their passage. _Wait,_ he thought, _why wasn't that healed with the rest of him? Unless...the pain._ Castiel remembered the pain he felt surging from Dean to him during their ascent from Hell, and an idea came to him.

Castiel stood. _Not this one,_ he found himself thinking furiously. _Not this one._ His hand opened, the Angel blade tumbling to the ground. He reached down into his Grace, felt it fill his being. He replaced his hand onto Dean's shoulder, and willed his Grace to flow into him. Instantly, the burning that he had felt when Dean's soul was burning rushed through him again, but this time into Dean. He was right. _We were connected,_ Castiel realized in wonder. _His soul burned right through me, and my Grace into him_. Castiel poured more of himself through the connection. He felt his form wavering. He felt himself being stripped bare, leaving only the celestial being called Castiel, God's Angel, pure energy. He watched Dean closely. He smiled one last time as he saw his soul returning.

He stopped pouring out his Grace and the repaired pieces of Dean's soul and carefully returned him, fully intact, to his resting place. It would have to be this way, he had to return to life here in the exact same place he had been buried. He began to rise back towards Heaven and stopped, hesitating. All of that rage, his lust for revenge. _It will just consume him again,_ thought Castiel. He turned back one final time, reaching deep into Dean's memories, and carefully, cleanly, pulled some of his memories away. His thoughts of revenge. His father. His ascent from Hell. Even Castiel himself. He was too integral in all of it. Dean would have no memory of being raised from Perdition. Castiel smiled. _Maybe it's better this way,_ he thought as he rose towards the sky. _I'll be seeing you soon, Dean. At least I know what my vessel is supposed to look like. Welcome home._


	10. Chapter 10

#  Epilogue

The Demon hummed quietly to himself as he strode into the Council Chamber, the box tucked snugly under one arm. The Knights were not in the room, he noticed with satisfaction. His boss Lilith had done her part, taken them out on a little errand.

He stopped in the middle of the room and looked up at the high thrones. _Arrogant bastards,_ he thought.

Mammon turned her golden head towards him. “You have specifically requested a meeting of the entire Council today. You said you had 'extremely important news' to report. News that absolutely could not wait. Is that right? Well, Demon, it had better be worth it, or we'll boil your skin off.”

The Demon smiled as he looked up at her. At all of them. Asmodeus sat there with steepled fingers, watching him curiously. Baal glared venomously. Belphegor had a lazy eye cocked open. Aamon gnashed his teeth, inwardly raging. Beelzebub's insect-like eyes regarded him.

 _Relics,_ he thought before he spoke. “ Don't worry, love. It's more than worth your time. Just like all the time you get to spend with me.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Mammon let out a shocked gasp. Aamon stood straight up. “Who do you think you're talking to?”, he growled, his sword appearing in his left hand. “That lack of respect is going to cost you, little _crossroads_ Demon.” He leapt down in one motion, landing heavily, long, serpentine tail lashing behind him. He raised his sword and walked forward.

In one smooth motion the Demon let the box fall to the obsidian rock floor, it's contents appearing in his right hand. Aamon continued forward, oblivious. The revolver fired once into his chest, and he fell back, a shocked expression on his horned face as his fire burned out from behind his eyes.

The other Council members rose as one, in total shock. The Colt fired again. And again. It fired until it was empty, and the Council of Hell lay dead, smoke rising from their corpses. The Demon walked up the staircase to the golden thrones to make sure. He noticed with amusement that Mammon even managed to make her dead body look graceful.

He sat down with satisfaction in the middle chair, enjoying the view. The job was done. Lucifer had no intention of keeping on his former staff after he rose. He had made that perfectly clear from his Cage. They had let him rot there for far too long, while they enjoyed the spoils of his kingdom. It was time for a new order. Of course, that didn't make him very comfortable about his own safety after Lucifer rose. He had the feeling that he wouldn't last very long if Satan managed to actually capture the Earth. Most likely he'd kill all the Demons after that.

Of course, if what Ruby had told him was true, and he actually feared the Colt... _Nah,_ he thought. _Far too risky. She's probably lying anyway, she hates me. Better to find a dupe to take that shot._ He smiled as he thought of the two perfect ones.

Lilith, the stupid bink, was destined to take herself out getting 'Daddy' loose, even if she didn't know it yet. And if the Colt didn't work on the Fallen Angel, well, he'd have to find another way to get Lucifer out of the picture. If Michael didn't do it for him, that was.

He smiled, leaning back in the throne, tipping the heavy golden chair backwards. Either way, it happened. Hell would be his.

 _Everything is coming up Crowley,_ he laughed into the empty, echoing hall.

 


End file.
